


Strange Tales of the Seireitei : Hell-O-Ween Edition

by jesuisordure



Series: Strange Tales of the Seireitei : Soul Stories [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, Crack Lite, Demons Are Assholes, Halloween, Humor, Jushiro Is A Mermaid!, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler References, M/M, Out of Character, Road Trip, The Author Regrets Nothing, spot the references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisordure/pseuds/jesuisordure
Summary: Series of one-shots - most comical, a couple not so much - depicting characters' personal and inflicted h/Hells, in honour of the most wonderful time of the year!Featuring such spoopy favourites as: Yumichicka's bad hair (and everything else) day, Mayuri's mind-expanding road trip with Urahara - and more! Who will win between Byakuya and a hungry, hungry Demon? Who will win between a pond full of koi and a hungry, hungry Mer? Perhaps Witch Kira has the answers you seek...





	1. Yumichika's Terrible Horrible Awful No Good Unbeautiful Day

He should have stayed in bed.

First there was the stain. A dark stain from whatever Ikkaku had last eaten or drank before he passed out halfway on top of Yumichika. Passed out before either of them could divest themselves of their uniforms. The creases were bad enough, but a _stain_? And it Would. Not. Come. Out. Yumi had his methods. His techniques. His secrets. Living in the 11th, you had to be well-versed in the removal of all sorts of fluids (and not-so-fluids). But this — 

Could he call in sick? No, their Captain did not believe in sick days, his lieutenant even less so. Unless he wanted one or both of them breaking the door down like a horde of overzealous barbarians intent on sacking Carthage. Unless he wanted the odious task of completing paperwork for a new door. Unless he wanted to sleep in Ikkaku's quarters — his whole _being_ shuddered at the thought — until his door was repaired. All of which he _did **not**_.

There was nothing for it — Yumichika would simply have to — his skin crawled — forego — he swallowed, his throat dry — his customary uniform modifications for the day.

It was horrible. So cold. So uncovered. So… standard regulation issue. Mundane, boring, dull, conventional — _conformist_! It was almost worth risking red eyes in order to shed a tear or six of frustration.

[voiceover] _But it was about to get worse. Today might be a bad uniform day, but the mirror was going to up the ante. It was her time to shine!_

A… mark. In his flawless skin. A large crease. A _deep crease_, running from the outer corner of his “fashion” eye, bisecting his cheek and ending just below the corner of his mouth, seemingly dragging it down and souring his expression (the single, solitary goal of this whole day so far). He looked — he puked in his mouth a little and swallowed it down (practice makes perfect!) — _old_. **This was also Ikkaku’s fault.**

Yumichika flung the first thing he could lay his hands on across the room, in the direction of the bed. He didn’t know what it was, but it made a satisfying sound when it smashed into tiny shards of nothingness, some piercing deep into the wood of the wall. 

Yumichika normally slept on his back, unmoving, like a corpse; a flawless, unmarked, beautiful corpse. But Ikkaku — the oaf — had pinned him on his side and now look! A crease! Visions of unleashing _Ruriiro Kujaku_ on his still sleeping, snoring, drooling, and all sorts of other disgusting bodily functions-ing partner danced merrily in his head. But this was why Yumichika got up three hours early without fail — for emergencies exactly like this one. He took a deep breath in…

And shrieked when he saw what other atrocities the traitorous glass had to show him: a clump of hair standing out at a very unbeautiful angle, due to a very well-defined kink received from BEING FORCED TO SLEEP ON HIS SIDE ALL NIGHT BY **NO NAMES MENTIONED**. He spun around and practically leapt on the still snoring Ikkaku. Damn him! Yumi landed a few good kicks to the moron’s ribs and one to the kidneys for good measure — hah! An eye for an eye and a bruised kidney for a bad hair day you boneheaded, cretinous, _halfwitted, shit for brains **NEANDERTHAL!**_

No surprise, the rebellious lock of hair was just as loathe to cooperate as The Stain and The Crease. Not even — and if anyone had seen him he would have sucked the life out of them without hesitating — some liberally-applied spit had any effect. Yumichika contemplated cutting the offensive follicles off — he could not have dissension in the ranks —, then contemplated restyling his hair completely while he was at it. But with the way his day was going…

No. He was a soldier. A fighter. A member of the 11th, by the Lords of Hell, and he would not be taken down by a few aesthetic catastrophes. He had to persevere and move on. Beauty came in many forms and he had mastered all of the ones that mattered. At least he always had his feathers — he could greet the day beautifully yet.

So about those feathers... First, he dropped them. Twice. Then he poked himself in the eye (he had NEVER poked himself in the eye!), allowing the tears to run in honour of his whole entire **raging _clusterfuck_** of a morning, while another innocent bystander to the 12 Trials whatever cosmetic Gods he had _clearly_ offended had assigned him, met its swift and grisly end against the far wall. He somehow bent the one feather and had to delicately try to unkink it, the similarities to his hair Situation not going unnoticed, and he may or may not have let out a few hysterical giggles. Not beautiful. No witnesses. It never happened. 

A drop of glue in the eye stung like the fires of Hell — worse than any wound he’d ever received on the battlefield (note to self: eyelash glue as close-range weapon?) — and then just to cap things off, he managed to glue his eye partially shut. That did not hurt so much as that then the lids were tacky and they kept sticking to each other and it was VERY IRRITATING and it made him look like his eye was stuttering. But he persevered, because Yumi hadn’t made it this far by giving up or admitting defeat. He WOULD be the last man standing in this battle. When the feather got stuck to his fingers and covered in glue and then stuck to his uniform, he told himself he really wasn’t feeling it today anyway so it was for the best and everything was FINE. 

He had the brilliant idea of attaching the sticky, feathery mess to the top of Ikkaku’s head — knowing the boneheaded _idiot_ would never notice — and that, at least, was a small victory. A smile of pure, petty evil spread across Yumichika’s face before he realised that it was probably not doing his Crease situation any good. That earned Ikkaku several more well-placed kicks and an attempted smothering, before Yumi dragged himself from the room lest he actually commit actual murder with his actual bare hands. At least the pack of savages he lived and worked with had the observational skills of a troop of blind-drunk baboons.

Or so he thought.

“Hey Feathers! Looking kinda ~naked~ today.” --_I will come for you in your sleep._\--

“Wow, Yumi. You look… tired.” --_You will die first._\--

“I hardly recognised you — you look so plain.” --_I will wear your entrails as a necklace and make a crown from your rib bones and turn your **SKULL INTO MY PERSONAL SIPPY CUP!**_\--

And so on and so on and on and on and on and oh, no, it never got old. Yumichika already had three mental pages of people to harm in various ways and in varying degrees of severity before he reached the Mess. Oh, yes, it was going to be a GREAT DAY FOR AYASEGAWA YUMICHIKA. And here came the Captain. Wonderful. They stared at each other for a few loaded seconds of quiet, before Kenpachi spoke words of salvation, delivered while doing his best impression of a hungry shark:

“You can do drills today. Have fun.”

Then he turned and walked back in the direction of his quarters, bells jingling softly as he shouted over his shoulder, “If you kill anyone, you do the paperwork.”

Yumichika’s face split in an only slightly more feral imitation of his captain’s signature fanged grin. The day had suddenly become most beautiful indeed.

[voiceover] _No nails were broken, nor lipstick in a tasteful pinky nude smudged, in the making of this production. The same cannot be said for the unseateds of the 11th Division._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yumi loves Ikkaku, he does — otherwise murder would have happened centuries ago — but Ikkaku’s default mode is “Dumbass” and Yumi’s is “Diva” so it can get ~exciting~ sometimes.


	2. Fear and Loathing In Hueco Mundo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Reference to drugs and alcohol
> 
> Welcome to the story that heralded my descent into fanfic degeneracy, where Mayuri is a good guy and long-term victim of Urahara's completely off-the-rails genius/insanity and Yoruichi is Yoruichi, always up for a good time and chaos in general. AKA the true story of how Urahara got booted from the Gotei.
> 
> [Best enjoyed accompanied by the dulcet tones of the Pixies’ “Um Chagga Lagga On the Side of the Road”.]

_“~~~ *Mayuuuuuyriiiiii*~~~,”_ an overly cheery voice rang out, the direction it was coming from impossible to pinpoint by design. There was no escape route, and nowhere to escape to, regardless.

The bottom of Lieutenant Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s stomach dropped out, while his testicles made a valiant attempt at climbing up inside his body to meet it halfway, where they could huddle together in silent fear. Not wanting to be left out of the adrenaline-fuelled panic party, his anus clenched and retracted a good inch at least, and stayed there, hovering in anticipation.

His Captain would be the — untimely and likely unusual in the worst way — death of him. Literally. He would probably stand a better chance of survival if he transferred to the 11th. If it wasn't for the Science... The Science: his one true love to whom he was irrevocably dedicated, even if it meant losing life and limb, which at this point he was resigned to believing it assuredly would.

The demon who tormented him by day (and sometimes nights) and haunted his dreams by night (and dreams by day too) appeared out of nowhere, leaning over his shoulder, close enough that his wild hair tickled Mayuri’s cheek; threatening to poke his closed fan at the volatile blue mixture that had taken Mayuri four hours to prepare in a way that wouldn't level the entire 12th Division or create a call to war on a planet three galaxies over (or the always expected and accounted for result of [Effects: Unknown But Oh That Can’t Be Good]).

_“Ooh, that looks like fun! But not as much fun as you're about to experience, Yuri-kun! Run along and grab your toothbrush and your teddy bear - we're going on a road trip! You've got ninety-seven seconds, then I start stirring random liquids into whatever life-saving energy drink you're cooking up here. Tick-tock!”_

Mayuri didn't even bother arguing; it had taken less than three days for him to realise that Captain Urahara was an absolute madman. His predecessor _hadn't_ had this revelation, which is how Mayuri came to hold this position, as well as develop a reflex aversion to looking at the ceiling. Any ceiling. Better to be safe than have a brain filled with things that couldn't be unseen.

The long echoing corridors carried his Captain's voice throughout the third level, as he counted down the seconds — “eighty-nine Mayuri, eighty-eight Mayuri, eighty-seven…” Mayuri made it back with two seconds to spare. Captain Urahara hid his pout of disappointment behind his ever-present multi-purpose not-only-for-affect-but-you-just-keep-thinking-that-and-see-what-happens folding fan.

_“Ah, Yuri-kun — you fun wrecker. But nevermind, soon we'll both be up to our brain pans in so much fun it will take weeks to wear off!”_ He squinted at his Lieutenant with an evil grin. _“Or even cause lasting damage ~~if we're lucky~~.” _

Absolute. **Madman**.

The day Urahara found him, was the day Mayuri found god — **_all_** of them.

**MAYURI’S DIARY**

** _Notes From the Road: A Record of My Impending Premature Death At the Hands of Urahara Kisuke:_ **

  * Day 1 was a waking nightmare. I’m going to need a good therapist. Will speak to Captain Unohana.
  

  * I can’t remember Day 2, but only because I purposefully poked around in my central cortex with a mostly-sharp bit of wire until that particular memory blipped out of existence. Think we are in Hueco Mundo; vision still a little blurry from said improvised surgery.
  

  * Day 3. It is only Day 3. How could it only be Day 3? I have lived a lifetime — a thousand lifetimes — in these few hours. This must be how time moves in Hell. Two-and-change days alone with Urahara and a giant case of illicit substances is all it has taken me to internalize the **profound** truth contained in the statement: "_Reality is a construct_". A very poorly-constructed construct that my Captain is bound and determined to grind into dust, much like the powdered Hollow he is currently snorting out of Yoruichi Shihoin's cleavage with an excessive amount of glee.

Dear Kami, it's me, Mayuri…

  * Sand. I don't like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and there's nothing but miles and miles and miles and **_miles_** of never-ending, unvarying, granular white Hollow shit, no matter where you look.

**[ILLEGIBLE : TEAR-STAINED]**

Stupid, perpetual desert night, no wonder everyone here is so cranky — their circadian rhythms must be non-existent. No idea what day it is, except I'm tired, and cold, and Urahara is brimming with obnoxiously high spirits - literally and figuratively. Where did all the alcohol come from? I shudder to think. All there is for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles is sand and Hollows. It does the job though. Even my internal organs are numb. 

**_“WE CAN'T STOP HERE, IT'S ARRANCAR COUNTRY!”_** I insisted.

So of course we stopped, and now we have our own little _Fracción_ of inebriated, intoxicated, under the influence of _ALL the illicit substances_, _Arrancar_. Let’s be honest, they smell like a camel’s armpit — if there were camels in this unimaginative simulacrum of a desert!!! — and they’re loud. So loud. LOUD. And guess who gets to be the designated “driver” cum babysitter. Yup, this clenched asshole.

In Hueco Mundo, no one can hear you scream, not even the Kami. Hollows like to scream — a lot, I’ve learned. The sound of fingernails on the chalkboard of my soul is practically a lullaby to me at this point; alley cats in heat will never compare. I lie awake at night — or midday, who knows?! — composing arias to accompany the screams; Screaming in Scream Minor, for the screams. No wonder the Kami have their noise-cancelling headphones on. 

Urahara says I should loosen up and play a game of hallucinogenic M.A.S.H — _“Even entheogenic would be fine.”_ — but there is NO. way in HELL. I will. Not after “The Geta Incident”.

But I swear to whoever may or may not be listening to my "midnight" crying jags: If we spend one more "day" in this hellish excuse for a landscape, — actually Hell would at least have somewhere for the eye to rest — I will toss myself back into the Cycle of Reincarnation via a hungry set of Hollow jaws, even if it means being reborn in the 80th district. Maybe I'll become the next Kenpachi and join the 11th after all. I can hear the Fates' laughter carried on the wind. Go ahead, ladies. I curse **you** most of all.

Day who gives a fuck we're all gonna die — again! — might as well go out in flames and take as many raging assholes with us as we can! I am immune to your screams woOOOOOO! 

So it turns out Kis wasn't lying - Hollow Dust is really really really fun, and _Arrancar_ are really really _really_ horny. Even Hell is a godsdamned **_trip_** (got some great one-of-a-kind souvenirs and indeed many places for the eye to rest, most of them deeply psychologically scarring, but then so’s this whole little adventure. It’s all relative) if you have the right connections, which Kisuke does, courtesy of the worlds-wide illegal import-export operation that crafty bastard has been running for over 500 years.

We even have a theme song and a secret handshake now, but what happens in the _Dangai_, stays in the _Dangai_. Mostly because I can't remember any of it; not after 17 shots of The Cleaner.

And guess what? Guess what guess what guess what guess what??! I can now report, with absolute confidence, that Earth girls really are easy, praise Shinigami Jesus.

**[ILLEGIBLE : ??? STAINED]**

Day I wonder if anyone actually expects us to return (and should I be relieved or insulted that nobody’s bothered to retrieve us?). Last night we played spin the unlabelled vial. I won. I know this because I am the only one not covered in my own shit, piss and puke - only shit. Ergo, I win. 

Suck it, Urahara. <strike>Please.</strike>

_~ We have traded the days for nights, finding the sweet caress of moonlight much more forgiving on the retinas. The dark purple bruises under our eyes look mysterious rather than sickly in the soft glow of the Day Star’s lunar sibling; stubbled jaw-lines transform from unkempt to rugged under Her gentle and forgiving touch. ~_

Also it's much easier to conduct illegal activities when there isn’t a giant fucking floodlight in the sky illuminating your very poor life choices for all the world to see. I am the night. I am… **Black Sand**!

Jesus fucking jumping Shinigami Christ on a pogo stick (our time in the Human World has been most educational; I especially enjoy their creative cursing), Silver Spider and the Devil Cat look so damn… edible in their ninja gear. I’ll never think another bad thing about the _Onmitsukidō again_. I can't help but be a little hurt and confused that I haven’t been invited — hells, _forced_ — to complete that sandwich yet, considering the multitudinous other things they have so cavalierly subjected my body to.

You know what will fix this? Playing Russian Roulette with The Suitcase of Wonders — double-dipping very much encouraged!

Maybe today will be the day I see God. Don’t know whether to thank them, or spit in their eye. Might do both. I don’t know.

Day GUESS WHO WAS THE OOEY GOOEY FILLING IN A FLASH GODDESS & EVIL GENIUS SANDWICH?  
Me. **ME.**  
And I got eaten out of the jar with a spoon, just like it should be. Hmmmm…  
Kisuke is very creative… _very_ creative. The _Kidō_ spells he has invented are testament to this. I understand… so much, now. Have the scars to prove it.  
I will never look at Benihime the same.  
Or cats. Lady Shihoin has a sick sense of humour. But big soft warm juicy delicious squeezable comfortable breasteseses so it evens out.  
Kami, God, Jesus Christ, the Lords of Hell, and the nice lady at the bakery counter whose name came unbidden to my lips at some point during the improvised Bacchanalia - you're welcome for all the free publicity.

We hesd baxk to stupid ser... deirit... seoro.. gucking soul sociery tomorow. Emptyong thw Case - **eberything must go!**... inro mt body. Tpo sober fot this

**Post Greatest 5 Weeks and 3 days of My Life**

It's been two months since my return from Hedonismville; my urine is still a very peculiar shade of purple, but Kisuke has assured me that it is only a very minor concern and I shouldn't notice the effects for at least another few centuries. Worth it. Absolutely worth it.

Also I am now _Captain_ Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Kis and the Princess were adamant when questioned about our unauthorized "5 Worlds Tour" that I was a wholly unwilling non-participant in the laundry list of illegal transactions that occurred over the course of our unsanctioned “vacation”, and that I was only there because I was cruelly tricked by my Captain, whom I worship and adore — not a complete lie, except the worshiping and adoring was more of a Tab A Slot B thing than a professional working relationship thing (involving cattle prods and… cattle prod things).

I miss his voice and the jolt of pure fear it once struck in me. I've taken to staring at the ceilings fondly, replaying all the times I nearly lost an eye, a limb, my life, to Kisuke's diabolical sense of whimsy. I am almost sad that I will never contribute to the intricate web of splatter patterns up there, at least not through his doing.

They exiled him, to the Human World. I think it was the "Giggity-Giggity-Gai!" that did it. He should never have modelled the prototypes after actual members of the Gotei, hilarious as it was to watch Komamura finally get to hump the Old Man's leg. I have to wonder though how such a frighteningly intelligent man could commit such a rookie mistake, purely to satisfy his twisted sense of humour — and then get caught. Does nobody find this suspicious? After all, now he can do whatever he wants, free from the jurisdiction of Central 46, while remaining completely tapped-in to everything that goes on here, because — once again — "connections".

I truly believe the only reason he didn't disappear into the bowels of _Muken_ is because he has landfills' worth of dirt on everyone who ever was, and is, of any importance in this corrupt little world of ours. And their families. And their servants, and their business associates, and and and — spreading outwards in ever-widening circles. The Silver Spider connects the dots, and weaves it all together in a web of manipulation designed specifically to trap those with something to hide. And then he waits. And calls in the favours.

It won’t last long — those idiots can’t live without his brilliant mind and “unconventional” problem solving skills — and until he returns, I wholeheartedly look forward to committing multiple acts of treason by feeding Kis as much information as his black little heart desires. I'll be helping him with R&D too — very exciting! Nobody ever checks up on what we do here — just look at the nonsense that went on under his command — not that any of them understand our work. As long as I present a fancy new toy every so often, and act suitably weird, I will be left alone. Toys I’ve got a-plenty, just have to work on the “weird”. Perhaps a single, freakishly-long fingernail? Or outrageously bizarre makeup? _NObody_ likes clowns... Then again, I've always enjoyed funny hats... Fuckit, maybe I'll treat myself to the whole damn Look™, because — after all — I do it for

**THE SCIENCE!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kurotsuchi_ translates as "black soil" or "black" earth", hence - Black Sand!


	3. The Little Homicidal Mermaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I have an entire Bleach Demon AU worked out, family trees and lore and everything. It is 35+ fics, plus meta, in varying stages of completion deep, and it is so HUGE at this point I don’t know if I’ll ever manage to unfuck it.
> 
> Cliff notes : Select individuals share their existences with Demons, Because Reasons. Ukitake is paired with a Mer and he handles it well — they have a Very Good Working Relationship which includes time-sharing and play-dates. Shunsui also handles it well, considering he lives with a literal monster, but some days it’s harder than usual. That’s why there’s sake. [Alternate title: Daddy Drinks Because You’re Bad]

Shunsui sat by the open screen window — as he did most afternoons — drinking sake — as he also did most afternoons — watching his other half’s extremely beautiful, extremely evil twin splash around in the koi pond — as _they_ did most afternoons — viciously terrorising their extremely distantly related (but don’t ever, ever say that out loud) step-cousins. Those damn fish were Ju-chan’s pride and joy, despite the obviously losing battle he fought to keep them alive. Then again, picking out new specimens was one of his favourite activities, so maybe it was a case of carefully orchestrated culling between him and his soul-roommate after all — not that Shunsui should be in any way surprised at the way the two conspired by this point.

He watched in dismay (“terror”, “shock” and “revulsion” fled the building years ago, and hadn’t been seen since) as a scaly version of his oldest, very best friend and partner in all senses of the word — now made awe-inspiring in their savagery and capacity for gruesomeness — selected an especially robust-looking golden koi that must have been at least 80 years old, and took a bite out of it like an _ohagi_ they’d forgotten to remove the decorative wrapper from — blood and… other fish stuff running down their chin as they gleefully shredded the meat in the maw of spiny death they called a mouth.

Shunsui slung back a cup of sake in memory of Goldie the Koi — taken too soon from this world, may their ancestors greet them in the fishy afterlife — and thought back to a time when the blood running down Ju’s chin had been his own, as he bent double and coughed ‘til he passed out, lying unconscious sometimes for days. It was agony watching the strongest person he knew, cruelly brought low by a disease without a cure. Shunsui did two extra congratulatory shots to the fact that those days were long behind them, thanks to the Monster From The Pond and the changes they wrought in Ju-Chan’s body when they surfaced.

Meanwhile, having apparently found the spasming fish in their hands to their liking, Shunsui’s life-long ally in anything and everything, unhinged their jaw in a way that had long-since stopped triggering Shunsui’s gag reflex, and swallowed what remained of the koi, whole. 

Shunsui had seen something similar on TV during one of his illicit trips to visit Kisuke for “medical supplies” (the alcohol kept him sane — it was valid). Nothing could compare to the sheer, riveting, incomprehension of seeing it in person, **_on_** a — somewhat — person. He picked up the sake bottle, tipped his head back, and drained the remaining contents in one long, resigned, burning swallow, reaching for the next one even before all the cleansing fire had made its way down his throat. 

The aquatic tragedy was far from played out however, as no sooner had it gone down than the golden koi — still wriggling and no doubt severely traumatised by its near-death experience — came right back up, the Mer grinning madly (they always grinned madly) as they tore at the fins they had forgotten to remove, in disgust. Then Goldie was sent back down into the dark to be once more reunited with its missing chunk of flesh. Happy reunion or not, Shunsui wasn’t sad to see the unfortunate fish go. Again. Hopefully for the last time.

(And he was certainly not ready to re-sample the very fine sake he was spoiling himself with, just yet — that was for later. The feelings that were starting to brew within him would just have to wait. Regret was a dish best served hot and acidic, straight into the nearest receptacle.)

Still, he was powerless to look away a few minutes later, when the one-and-only love of his life — his heart, his soul, his reason for living — seemingly purposefully regurgitated a spill of red and gold onto the grass, screeching with delight when they were done, before plunging their hands into what was fast becoming a “rustic” bouillabaisse.

This was a new one... but how to respond to the overwhelming **_honour_** he felt at being **_blessed_** to experience — _first-hand_, not like some coward watching from a safe and advisable distance, oh no. Kyōraku no Jirō Sōzōsuke Shunsui climbed right over those barriers, past the warning signs and jammed his head straight in the mouth of the leviathan, much like he was jamming the mouth of the sake bottle straight into his own eagerly awaiting gullet right now at this very minute with great enthusiasm — another culture’s most closely-guarded Sacred Rituals? 

Shunsui would have to write a haiku to add to his “Post-Piscean Jūshirō” keepsakes box tonight:

_ Golden scales shimmer  
Pale hands bathed in soft sunlight  
And bloody entrails_

He was certain young Kuchiki could do better, but then, young Kuchiki’s silks were currently marinating in fish guts, as he helped his partner-in-crime to sift through the innards that were now outtards, like they were scrying for… honestly, he didn’t even want to know. Best just to drink and forget. Drink **_to_** forget.

Shunsui was quite accustomed to it all by now, but that didn’t mean Ju-chan wasn’t going to be brushing his teeth three times, **and** flossing - twice - before he got any Shu-Bear kisses tonight.

Speaking of which, it was time to find a nearby receptacle in which to unburden himself.

Shunsui was kept awake by a stomach filled with regret, despite how many times he had emptied it. He was reasonably sure he hadn’t eaten any of the Magic Goldie Soup, but there was a somewhat disturbing black spot in his memory of the afternoon that didn’t feel sake-induced. It was best not to stare into the abyss though — Shunsui knew well and good what dwelled there. Next to him, Jūshirō looked as content as, well, a Mer that had spent all afternoon in the pursuit of new and interesting ways to torture its food; a long stripe of white skin, on white sheets, under white moonlight, his ever-present secret smile indicating he was communicating with his Demon, even in sleep.

Shunsui didn’t know how he did it, his kind, compassionate, joyful Jūshirō. Certainly the bottom of his lake was as muddy and littered with broken glass as any of theirs, but he rose up out of the muck like a pure white lotus waiting for a bodhisattva-in-the-making to walk by, look deep into its golden heart, and be inspired to transcend the last bit of the human experience holding them back from achieving enlightenment.

The Mer would just as soon eat the bodhisattva — alive — after toying with them until they got bored or their prey stopped screaming, whichever came first. Fear made the meat piquante! No light reached down into the fathomless cold where that Demon came from. It was a place filled with living abominations even evolution found too horrifying to look directly at; a place where even the strongest would not necessarily survive. Everything down there in the liquid black was alive _because it wanted to be_, and it wanted to _continue to be_, and there were no limits to what it would do to ensure this status quo went unchallenged.

Claws scratched down Shunsui’s arm, fluffing the hair and breaking him out of his reverie, but he didn’t pull back. Never pull back. Never hold eye contact. _Never_ — for the love of all that is divine and good and holy in this world — start what you can’t finish. And whatever you do — _don’t. run._

_“Sh’sui...”_ It was Ju’s body, but the hissing voice, the glittering white eyes, the teeth — kami the teeth — were all Demon.

Shunsui knew exactly what they wanted — it wasn’t hard to guess. There were only three things the Mer cared about: feed, fight, fuck, or some violently creative combination thereof. This made the process of elimination blessedly simple. 

“Put the Little Mouth of Horrors away and we’ll talk.”

The teeth disappeared instantly into whichever level of Hell they came from, as Shunsui disappeared under a spill of white hair and limbs, and laughter like light made sound.

The Demon was… an experience, but their appearance had drastically extended the lifetime he would spend with his _kozakana_ by his side, and for that, they could utterly decimate the koi — all the koi in the entire Seireitei, Shunsui would help! — stain every surface in the house with blood and guts and every other manner of gore and bodily fluids; play Hunt the Human until Shunsui was nothing but shredded meat and red, unable to even howl for mercy. 

Ju was his complement, his balance, his anchor; the man against which he measured all others, including himself — without him, Shunsui would be dead anyway.

The Mer chittered happily as they buried their face in his chest, but the hand that found Shunsui’s was unmistakably Ju’s.

Maybe he’d take them koi shopping tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ohagi :** mochi made with sweet bean paste, and Jūshirō’s favourite food.  
**Kozakana :** “little fish”
> 
> Fun fact: Mer Jūshirō is obsessed with Shunsui’s body hair.
> 
> This Mer is a cross between [this beautiful baby](https://www.sydneydiscusworld.com/silver-arowana-50-cm/), and [this nightmare-fuel](https://roaring.earth/deep-sea-dragonfish/) from the deep — with a [splash of shine](http://www.flyanglersonline.com/articles/eotg/2015/eotg20150302_TomTravis.php) for that “moonlight on water” look. It is not standard behaviour for the Demons to manifest outside of their hosts, but Jūshirō has a relationship with them that is similar to Ichigo and his Zanpakuto spirits’. The awakening of the Demon cured Jūshirō’s “lung disease”/booted Mimihagi out of his soul [the Mer Demon may or may not have eaten it.] Everybody lives! Nobody dies! Shenanigans ensue!


	4. The VVitch of the Gotei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
**Kira was a happy boy. Until he was not.**
> 
> Same Demon AU as Chapter 3 : ALL of the awful things happen to Kira at a young age, culminating in the botched Academy training mission orchestrated by Aizen, where Hisagi gains his facial scars and Kira loses an arm and most of their upper body [a la TYBW]. Kurotsuchi Winter Soldier-zombiefies them and life continues. Except.
> 
> Kira returns from the dead with Abilities — and a whole new attitude towards despair and gender non-compliance — leading them to become the resident _[Yuta](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryukyuan_religion#Yuta)_ +/ _[Toki](https://www.tofugu.com/japan/yuta-noro-okinawa-witch-trials/)_ combination of the Gotei [although they are closer to the shaman side of things], both feared and revered. They also gained Bankai and a Demonic tag-along during the rebirthing process, but nobody needs to know about that just yet. 
> 
> In short, Kira is a monster, and Kira _will not apologize_.

Kira hummed to themself as they tied the day’s prayer ribbons to the bars of their upper body’s structural support. The practice had begun as a way to cheer themself up, to add a little levity to an otherwise truly horrifying situation (both for them, and those around them). It was difficult not to smile — even if that smile was of the kind that belonged in dark places where no one else could see it (everything about Kira belonged in dark places where no one else could see it now) — when they had streams of colour trailing in their wake. 

Stitching small prayers and spells onto the ribbons followed naturally after that, the incantations and petitions for blessings being carried to the gods by Kira’s movements and that of the breezes that blew through the void in their being. 

Sometimes Kira added bells to the ribbons, taking a note out of Kenpachi’s book. Yachiru was predictably delighted by this modification, and had taken to contributing to Kira’s “flair”. The latest was a Hello Kitty charm with a tassel that someone had brought back for the little pink devil from the Human World. It might become a permanent fixture; the contrast between the favourite kawaii mascot of the Living and Kira’s unfortunate physical situation was too jarringly discordant to resist.

It was when Kira wound silk threads in varying colours around and between the bars in intricate, criss-crossing patterns interspersed with even more intricate knots, that they meant serious business. Thread- and knotwork wasn’t “nice” magic, whether offensive or defensive. It was bindings - and unbindings -, and hexes and other kinds of deliberately personal strikes. And Kira knew if people were being truthful when they came for help. Regardless, they would still get what they _asked_ for, just not necessarily what they _wanted_. _Caveat emptor._ Kira always warned them upfront, after all. 

Kira knew some people found them unsettling, even unnatural, but as long as they — Kira Izuru — were the one walking around with a biomechanical arm and half their chest missing, hearing voices and seeing things and waking up in the night with disembodied eyes staring at them, those people could kindly suck it all the way up.

In any case, every day off — without fail — Kira barely had time to tie their hakama before a knock at the door brought them the first of many people seeking answers, awkwardly and otherwise. By the feel of it, that day’s inaugural querent would be arriving very shortly.

Kira opened the door — “Abarai.”

“I hate it when you do that!”

“I know. Not my fault your reiatsu smells like the monkey house at Ueno Zoo.”

Renji made an undignified squawk of outrage. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I make you look normal in comparison.” Kira gestured for him to come inside with an overly dramatic bow that made his ribbons flutter.

“_Tch_. Here.” Renji thrust out a sake jug, breathing in the fragrant incense Kira always seemed to have burning.

“Mmm, the good stuff. So this is more than just a personal visit then? Sit, I’ll make tea, unless you’d prefer — ?” Kira jiggled the sake jug questioningly.

Renji shook his head gently, causing his tightly-braided hair to slither along his spine like a carmine serpent. “Tea is probably best. I’ve got to be at work later and I’d rather have my wits about me right now.”

“Ah, yes; lots of things happening on your side of the Gotei, aren’t there? The human — what’s his name?”

“Ichigo.” Kira noticed a marked flatness in Renji’s voice when he said the Human’s name; an almost purposeful lack of emotion. _-What are you hiding, Monkey Boy?-_

“Yes, Ichigo… and a Dragon — is that true?” Kira looked back over their shoulder with an expression of mixed curiosity and disbelief, though considering their own unique situation, pretty much anything should be possible.

Renji perked up at that. “Absolutely! You definitely need to meet them — they could heal you, I’m sure of it!”

Kira knew their friend meant no harm, but the words still stung. “Perhaps I do not wish to be healed, Abarai. Perhaps I do not even consider myself in need of healing.”

A mortified blush, in very nearly the same shade of red as his hair, flooded across Renji’s cheeks as he lowered his eyes to focus intently on the tatami under his knees. “I’m sorry, Kira, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t, but I know you are made of eighty percent good intentions, Abarai.”

“What’s the other twenty percent then?”

Kira’s smirk was vicious enough that it was visible even behind the curtain of light blonde hair that seemed to permanently obscure their face. “Pure idiocy.” 

The 6th Division lieutenant laughed uproariously at the undeniably accurate — however unflattering — appraisal of his character. Kira brought over a tray and smoothly sank down to their knees across from Renji, a hint of a playful smirk still playing at the corners of their mouth. The two friends sipped their tea in comfortable silence, until Kira felt Renji’s nerves drop down to a level lower than the heights they commonly functioned at. Their friend was a stress beast under all the bravado.

“So what is it you wish to ask today, Abarai? Still pining for your infuriatingly unattainable nobleman?” Kira already knew the answer, but had learned from experience that people preferred to explain their needs themselves; they found it disconcerting that Kira could see so deeply into their secret places without being invited.

Renji shot Kira a withering glare, but could not deny that that was at least one of the things currently causing him sleepless nights. He watched as Kira cleared away the tea service, leaving the tray, and picked up the cylindrical box containing the yarrow sticks they used for divining. They were of Kira’s own devising, each one inked with a thought relating to the Shinigami world and the people in it. When thrown, the sticks would form a haiku, which Kira then interpreted. Renji didn’t know how Kira made sense of the messages sometimes, but so far they had not been wrong.

“Abarai?” Kira’s voice brushed quietly against Renji’s awareness.

“Yes, sorry. Thinking. How many throws do I get?”

Kira seemed to be considering something before they answered, “We will give you three today.” Renji looked pleased and relieved.

“So, yeah, you’re right, I’m going to ask about Taichō. I just… can’t… I can’t figure him out and I don’t know what to do and now Ichigo’s here and they spend so much time together and he and the Dragon go way back and I know they’re… ~involved, somehow, but I’m sure he’s given me signs too and I really like them both and I just…” Renji threw his hands up into the air in a gesture of utter frustration. 

Kira’s top lip twitched. “Okay, just breathe, Abarai. You stink even more of baboon when you get all riled up. ------ Hey! No slapping the witch, Monkey Boy, unless you want to be stuck with latrine duty well into your captaincy! Go ahead, ask your question.”

Renji sighed loudly. Despite their generally gloomy disposition, Kira had a knack for diffusing tense situations and bringing people back down to earth. “Fine. I guess I need advice on what to do regarding my Taichō dilemma.”

Kira looked up at Renji from under their hair. “You know that’s not a very good question, Abarai. But I’ll throw.”

They tossed a bundle of sticks marked with red ink onto the tray, selected the centre-most upright one and set it aside. They repeated this action with the bundle marked with black ink, and then the red again. The three sticks that had been set aside were placed in rows to form the haiku:

_Leave the world screaming  
Drifting intoxicated  
You must choose a goal_

“_Kenpatchi_, _Kyoraku_ and _Tres Bestias_. Asking might be terrifying — and the answer potentially even more so — but ultimately you will regret remaining in willful ignorance. The Kami say ‘shit, or get off the pot’, Abarai. I think they’re sick of you asking the same question over and over, but never doing anything to influence the outcome. I will not ask about your Taichō again, not until you do something about your feelings for him.”

Renji hid his face in his hands, before scrubbing roughly at his features with a growl. “Damn, okay. Thanks, anyway. I’ll… I’ll see about taking a shit.” He grinned lopsidedly. “The next two are new topics, so... What is the Dragon’s purpose here? Taichō calls them an ‘agent of chaos’ and says they only appears when big things are about to happen. Which it seems like they are already.”

“Hmm…” Kira threw the sticks again and composed the resulting poem:

_Curiosity  
The despair of victory  
At what cost knowing?_

Kira shook their head vehemently as they studied the message in front of them. “_Kurotsuchi_, _3rd Division_, _12th Division_. Oh, I would leave this alone, Abarai; nothing good can come of it. It is not for you to know, not now, maybe not ever. No. That much is clear. Crystal mountain spring water clear.”

Renji was surprised when Kira shuffled the bundles back together with an air of agitation he wasn’t used to seeing. “I really must have pissed Kami off; I’m not sure I should chance a third attempt.”

“No, we gave you three, you will use three, even if you have to ask about what they’ll be serving for lunch today. There are rules, Abarai.”

“Fine, just… keep it to yourself, okay? I... “ Renji sighed heavily. “There’s something between me and Ichigo — and I’m not just being —” he waved a hand in the air “— not just chasing after the first pretty thing I see. It feels different. I need to know if I’m right — if there’s something there. Do I bother, or is it another... nobleman situation.”

Kira raised an eyebrow at Renji’s admission; perhaps there was a larger reason he had never gathered up the courage to approach Kuchiki; perhaps Kami had other plans for his friend. “A little messily worded, but here we go. Feel free to pray.” They were joking, but Renji did indeed start murmuring softy. Something must have worked, because the outcome was in direct contrast to the previous two readings:

_Respect from within  
Reflection of your true soul  
Loyal to a fault_

“Well, well, Abarai, that’s certainly a positive outlook. _10th_, _Zanpakutō_ and _Tres Bestias_ again — I think you’ve just been told quite clearly which goal to pursue. The feeling of something — of connection? You’re correct. You will find completion in each other; rely on each other without hesitation; be each other’s swords, literally and figuratively. Do it, my friend.”

Renji didn't back when he smiled, and the one that spread across his face at Kira’s words was so filled with hope it practically lit the room. He never smiled like that when he spoke about his Captain. Intriguing, and telling. It seemed Abarai was on the verge of finally catching up to his own fate — or, more likely, his fate was catching up to him.

Kira led the still beaming Lieutenant to the door and wished him good luck with his love life, making him promise to keep Kira updated — although they would likely know before Renji how well he was faring in navigating the streams of his own life. With a small tilt of their head, as if listening to a far off sound, Kira set out the bottle of sake Renji had so fortuitously supplied, along with three cups. There was just enough time to throw the sticks before the next visitors arrived.

Thinking of what forces would warrant the intervention of an “agent of chaos”, Kira built a haiku from the line fragments the sticks supplied:

_Reckless aggression  
Enemy in the shadows  
You refuse to see_

_Oh._ Things were about to get very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The divination Kira performs for Renji is a genuine reading with the system I created specifically for this story, because I’m crazy. But not as crazy as how GD relevant the results are! [If you are a fellow crazy person and would like to do your own Bleach-themed divination, let me know in the comments and I'll make something presentable to share on GDocs.]
> 
> [Buddhist prayer flags](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_flag) and [ribbons](https://flic.kr/p/6wZX5g). Kira is canonically skilled at playing cat’s cradle, which I expanded into an affinity for [knot magic](http://www.witchipedia.com/def:knot-magic). And what is a spell if not poetry with intent? Haiku = magic! Kira is [3edgy5u](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4QPhcVFFyGWyeykkcM3RMB).
> 
> **Ueno Zoo** in Tokyo is Japan’s oldest zoo [1882 — so roundabout the time the Vizard and co. fled Soul Society]. It is notable for housing the Giant Panda, Ling Ling, until 2008, as well as being the location for Japan’s first monorail. The More You Know ::shooting star::
> 
> Demon AU Renji is a lot more reserved and "tame" — more like the snake aspect of Zabimaru — while Byakuya is, well, a sloppy ho. But a _classy_ sloppy ho who makes it work for him! Ichigo is a hellion with Opinions and Rukia is a Problem. Hilarity, antics, hijinks & shenanigans ensue.


	5. Hell's Kitchen - A Dégustation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW :** Mild? torture at the end
> 
>   
_Sebastian’s asides_  
_-Sebastian’s thoughts-_  
_”Demon voice”_
> 
>   
**Timeline:**  
Ichigo comes in like a wrecking ball — May 2003  
Vizards exiled 110 years before — 1893  
Sebastian snacks on Ciel’s sweet, delicious soul — 1889  
Byakuya x Hisana approximately — 1947-1952  
Byakuya becomes Captain — +/- 1953
> 
> [Please see End Notes for background.]  


#### INGREDIENTS FRAIS

A remnant of the original Darkness — birthed from the Void that was all there was _Before_ — coalesces into an unsettled umbral form. The Demon watches, waits, completely merged with the shadows bar the ten thousand shimmering magenta eyes that appear from out of the smoky protean mass, each one surveying the environment around it before winking out to allow another spy to complete its reconnaissance.

It has heard about this place, a town with an uncommonly high proportion of stronger-than-average souls. Though it is still happily savouring its last meal, there is no harm in beginning preparations for the next; and seeing as basic souls will never — ever — be satisfying again unless taken in outright desperation, the Demon is now forced to seek out more vigorous, more potently-flavoured prey if it wants to feast properly. A good meal requires quality ingredients above all — along with patience and time, both of which the Demon has in infinite supply.

This town is as unusual as the rumors would have it. There is a tang in the air, a piquancy, and wandering souls are everywhere — it is positively filthy with the pathetic wisps of mortal existence. This human detritus is of no interest to the Demon; none of them are worth ingesting. However, their excessive presence does draw other interesting beings to this location.

There are strange demon-like creatures that appear through portals to another hell (at least, the Demon assumes that is what they are and where they come from). They behave like Demons, terrorising the souls roaming the streets and gobbling them up once they are sufficiently marinated in fear and distress. The Demon consumes a few of these soul-eating monsters, evaluating their viability as a food source, but they all taste like pain and emptiness — which are exquisite in their own way, but more as an amuse bouche than a main.

Then there are the Reapers, who exterminate these marauding creatures as well as sending the wandering souls onto whatever post-death punishment-reward system they are bound for. These Reapers — who call themselves “_Shinigami_”, which fills the Demon with boundless mirth — are not like the ones who constantly managed to get in the Demon’s way in London. For one, they seem to be mostly sane, to the point of being tediously pedestrian in their conduct (Will would approve, in triplicate). For another, they all carry regulation swords and wear regulation uniforms. Then again, this is Japan; the Demon really shouldn’t expect anything less than the utmost discipline and conformity from a martial society. 

Most importantly though, they do not seem to recognize the Demon for what it is. It has come in close contact with several of them — never revealing that it is aware of their presence — and none of them have reacted in the slightest. An interesting discovery. A potentially useful discovery.

Aside from the dead and those that hunt them — whether for sport or duty — there are several inhabitants who are atypical even for this town. They taste like the _Shinigami_, though they do not behave like them (they actually seem to be hiding from them). These souls are like Masamune blades rather than the crude clubs sent to dispatch the dead.

There is a woman who reeks of _bakaneko_, and yet she doesn’t seem to be able to “see” the Demon, unless she is playing her own game (the Demon wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case). She is fast, and quiet, preferring the form of a cat in order to stay hidden and travel unnoticed. Much as it adores the feline species to unreasonable degrees, the Demon avoids crossing paths with this particular black cat at all costs. The woman is an unknown quantity of indeterminate variables, and the judicious use of caution has a place, even to one as ancient as the Demon.

The _bakaneko_ seems to share a residence with a large, moustachioed man, hideously tainted by magic. It is a miasma that buzzes around him like flies on a battlefield, souring the air and blighting everything he comes into contact with. The Demon shudders. Eating the soul of a mage is like swallowing a bucket of aggressively live eels, and it comes back on you for decades. The fiend can still taste the last one it ate if it concentrates hard enough (oh, the errors of youthful experimentation). No, not this one. _Not if it were starving_. Not if this was the last soul on earth. The Demon would rather choke on an entire _choir_ of angel cock.

But the third one… He has hair like sunlight filtered through gauze, and dangerously intelligent eyes that never stop moving, as if he knows he’s being hunted. He tastes like blood and metal and death. He tastes like something _other_. The man associates (very closely) with a cat demon and a filthy mage: it would stand to reason that he too is _more_, but what that “more” is, the Demon cannot discern. The closest parallel it can draw is to the renegade Reaper who tried to kill it (and it still ached where that crazy bastard had driven his Death Scythe through the Demon’s human form).

It orchestrates a chance meeting between the two of them, curious to know how this unusual prospect will respond to a Demonic presence. The man definitely _-sees-_ the fiend, his eyes narrowing and fingers twitching at his hip. The Demon inclines its head with a sly smile and continues walking, wondering if the man will be reckless enough to follow, but his self-preservation instincts are evidently better developed than most. _-Pity.-_

The final group of curious souls lives some distance away and are in permanent hiding; the Demon does not know what to make of them either. They are like the other three — rogue _Shinigami_, it learns — but they are also like the soul-eaters. They keep to themselves, rarely leaving the (perceived) safety of their lair, their energy unstable and in a constant state of flux. The pain of their betrayal stains the air, mingled with fear, confusion, anger, hate. The Demon will sometimes visit them to simply bask in the poisonous atmosphere that envelops their den, steeping in the waves of distress that wash over it like delicately-flavoured tea of the highest quality. _-Such a delectable treat.-_

The Demon makes no moves, content to observe and learn. It is patient. It didn’t survive this long by rushing into anything. 

When the day comes that a very different kind of _Shinigami_ steps out into the sky — strong, powerful, pulsing with life so radiantly that the Demon’s form ripples and shivers in response — the Demon decides it might be time for a change of scenery. If there are more like this beast of a man, wild soul howling inside him, then whatever is on the other side of those sliding doors might be worth the adventure. 

The next time the doors open, the Demon is ready, and when the poor excuse for a “death god” leaves, he pays no attention to the dark shape that follows along behind him. And just like that, the Demon enters the land of plenty, and the ravening form of Hell descends on Soul Society.

#### 1 : MISE EN PLACE

The Demon travels the land of the dead in the form of a carrion crow, unremarkable unless one were to look at its eyes — but nobody does, they are too busy trying to survive. The Demon wonders if this isn’t perhaps a hell of its own kind; the only difference between this reality and the one of the living is the absence of the fragile flesh binding the souls to their misery. _-Humans,_ — it scoffs — _creators of their own suffering in every state of existence.-_

Those within the great walled city lead very different lives to the huddled masses outside, and the Demon encounters the nobles there, along with many more of the _Shinigami_. Flying over their compound is a heady experience. This is where the most extraordinary souls are gathered, all together in one, convenient location, just waiting to be lured into temptation by a silken voice whispering velvet-wrapped promises in their tone-deaf ears. A veritable smörgåsbord laid out for the Demon to gorge on as fancy strikes it.

There is an ancient, gnarled soul that tastes like the fires of Hell itself, scorching and bitter — a meal to last a century or more, to be sure, but lacking in a certain delicacy and refinement of flavours that the Demon has come to appreciate of late. There is another one — also very old — savage and single-minded, the flavour of which coats the Demon’s tongue in thick, hot streams of blood; thick enough to suffocate on (_-Yes, perhaps this is a hell-_, the Demon decides). This soul reminds the Demon of the strange man in the world of the Living who was able to _-see-_ him, but without the cunning and artifice that enriched that soul. Nevertheless, the Demon would glut itself on the bloody, beast-like soul with much relish. 

When it comes across the Twin Souls, the Demon almost falls out of the sky with the sharp pull of _-needwantdesiretakeTAKE**TAKE**_\- that pierces through it. Twin souls! A pair of perfectly complementary, exquisitely paired souls that blend on the Demon’s tongue like nothing it has ever sampled before. It very nearly forgets all good sense in favour of succumbing to the drive to devour, of diving in to plunge straight down their gullets and ravage them from the inside. But Twin Souls do not succumb easily, and these ones are strong, and subtle, and mature — they will fight, and the Demon will lose; that is a certainty. The pair are so robust the Demon might almost be content in limiting itself to savoring the air — redolent with the lingering aroma of their unfaltering love and passion and devotion — alone for a millennium or two. Almost.

And so it goes until the day the Demon drifts through a cloud of something light, floral, sweet, edged with a smouldering heat like banked coals, and spiced with defiance. There is something unfinished about the flavour, as if it is still simmering on the stove, deciding whether it is going to be sharp or subdued. Oh _this_. **This**. A soul — a _young_ soul — that the Demon can season to its own specifications, taste-testing and adjusting as needed along the way? Consume at leisure or all at once, as it fancies? The fiend groans, the sound coming out as a strangled “_**caw**_”. This is what it has been longing for. 

The Demon watches the soul it has already come to think of as “**Mine**”, gathering all it will need to assimilate into the young man’s life. He is a noble — high-ranking in a high-ranked family — by the name of Kuchiki Byakuya. A _Shinigami_ from a family of _Shinigami_, slated to be another Captain in a long line of Captains (bog-standard nobility; the Demon has seen it all before, a hundred thousand times). 

This soul — _my_ Soul — in addition to being delectable, is aesthetically pleasing as well, destined to become even more beautiful as he matures. The grandfather is an old buzzard, but the father is quite lovely too, if sickly. While Byakuya takes after his grandfather in strength, he fortunately takes after his father in looks — black hair spilling like ink, storm grey eyes set against skin as pale as moonlight, all lithe grace and upright bearing. Not that it matters, particularly, but it’s nice to have something beautiful to look at. Nicer still to have something beautiful to destroy.

The sheer number of assassination attempts the Demon foils while it watches in readiness are enough assurance that it has made a wise choice in souls — Humans are driven to eliminate the strong; they have that much in common with Demon-kind. The young noble is well-known for his steadily growing power — both in spirit and force of will — and even the fiend can see that this one could spell trouble for the clans in the future, his determined — bordering on rebellious — nature disguised by genteel behaviour and measured propriety. 

However, despite concerted efforts to assure the contrary, Byakuya will live to a ripe old age (as ripe as the Demon desires, in any case). Eventually even the assassins dry up, as rumours spread that the young Kuchiki is protected by Kami themselves. 

_-Close enough.-_

#### 2 : BOUQUET GARNI

It is laughably easy to infiltrate the family’s core group of staff. The Demon simply appears one day and starts working, as if he has always been there. Whenever he is questioned, he knows all the employee names, all the positions, all the duties that are required of him, and so no one questions any further. The Demon is also not so brash as to take a highly visible position; no, he will work his way up to the rank he desires using all the charm and inside information he has at his disposal. There is time, and he is patient, and any obstacles in his way between now and then will be swiftly and discreetly dealt with. After all, he has trained to be nothing less than one hell of a butler.

And the Demon does rise quickly in the staff hierarchy, his work ethic, all round competency, efficiency and seeming ability to defy the constraints of time, bringing him up to a position similar to that of the Under-Stewards he had encountered in London. Then it is simply a matter of orchestrating a conveniently ruined meal and the attendant panic that ensues — this, too, he learned from the “experts” — while the young Master (_his_ Soul) is unencumbered by the domineering presence of his grandfather — called away to investigate a rather distressing case of curiously missing souls in one of the upper districts — affording the Demon the opportunity to come swooping in to the rescue with his knowledge of curry; spicy food being the young Master’s favourite. 

Naturally, _his_ Soul begins to request the superlative dish frequently, and the young man’s insatiable curiosity soon leads to his wanting to meet — under the auspices of acknowledging good service — the creator thereof. 

As he kneels outside the private quarters of his soon-to-be Master — accompanied by the Head Steward to prevent him from doing anything embarrassing or otherwise shameful (the list of which is exceedingly long) — the Demon silently rolls the young man’s name around on his tongue, feeling the way it presses into his mouth; the pursing and parting of his lips; the way his mouth hangs slightly open on the last sound, waiting to be filled, claimed: _Kuchiki Byakuya_. A name of contrasting beauty and decay. The Demon could weep with the perfection of it. 

Byaku — _Kuchiki-sama_ — is not supposed to acknowledge the staff, but his disposition is fierce and contrary, and he will not be denied — although he waits again until he is alone, for fear of disappointing his grandfather (the Demon has watched with interest how anger simply rolls off Byakuya, like repelling like, while he soaks up disappointment like a masochistic sponge. Granted, this is not the only masochistic tendency the fiend has borne witness to in his weeks of watching _his_ Soul. The Demon’s eyes glitter in anticipation of the games that lie ahead for them.)

“Enter.”

The Steward bows, kneels, bows, face practically on the tatami. The Demon follows suit. Debasing himself in front of a baby nobleman is hardly the worst thing he’s ever had to endure on the path to sating his infinite hunger. 

“Your name.” 

So imperious, _his_ Soul. It brings back delicious memories of his previous young Master.

“Michaelis Sebastian, Kuchiki-sama.”

_He had made the decision of keeping the last name he was known by, when he entered the household. The religious connotations please him — even if they are lost on these particular souls — and this feels like something of a continuation of the journey he had embarked on on the other side of the world. Another chapter in the story, rather than another story altogether (forgive a Demon for becoming sentimental in his dotage)._

“You are the one who made the curry?”

“Yes, Kuchiki-sama. I apologise if I have caused offense with my humble abilities, Kuchiki-sama; I seek only to serve.” 

Sebastian’s lips curve into a wicked smile, a secret held close between himself and the tatami it is directed at.

“I found it very enjoyable and unusual — I have not tasted a combination of spices like that before. I am curious where you learned these things, and where you were before you joined my grandfather’s household. No one seems to know.”

Sebastian’s insides writhe with the compulsion to drive _his_ Soul to the floor and take big, pitiful, screaming bites out of it. It is _excruciating_ to resist, which only serves to further fuel his screaming lust.

“The curry is of my own invention, Kuchiki-sama, and I was previously with the Nakishima family, a minor noble house. There was a,” Sebastian pauses for effect, “scandal, Kuchiki-sama; I cannot speak of it.” 

He had the story prepared for when this day eventually came, knowing the noble most likely would not investigate the matter further unless he had cause, and knowing he most assuredly would not be so gauche as to press the issue of a scandal. _-Humans. Nobles. All the same, everywhere.-_

“Hmm. Very good, you may go.”

“Thank you, Kuchiki-sama. I am honoured to serve you,” _-you, personally, my Soul-_ “and your grandfather’s household.”

The two servants bow their way out of the room and Sebastian goes about the rest of his duties for the day with his usual level of quiet diligence and systematic productivity, the thrill of conquest hidden behind an expertly-cultivated facade of composed reserve . Now it is only a matter of time before Sebastian is called before _his_ Soul again — after all, the young Master is in need of a personal attendant following the highly mysterious disappearance of his last two manservants. 

_-It’s just so hard to find good help these days;_ — Sebastian muses — _not everyone is cut out to be one hell of a butler.-_

#### 3 : BLANCHE

Within a week, Sebastian is promoted to the position of the young Kuchiki’s personal attendant, under stern admonitions from the Head Steward that he is not to bring shame on himself, the staff, or — Kami forbid — the Kuchiki household, under pains of literal death. These souls are given to frightful — nay, _theatrical_ — displays of near-histrionics for every little offense (imagined or not) and they seemingly find _everything_ offensive (Sebastian finds it all quite droll. The ease with which he could bring the household crumbling to the ground simply by selecting the wrong tea set takes all the fun out of it though).

The Demon astounds the young master with his ability to practically predict his needs, not to mention his seemingly thoroughly _intimate_ knowledge of all Byakuya’s preferences. It becomes a game to see how many of Byakuya’s requests he can anticipate; to see how much of a reaction he can get out of the baby noble. _His_ Soul seems to catch on to the unofficial contest, coming up with more and more outrageous demands, challenging Sebastian to pay even closer attention to his young Master. What Byakuya doesn’t realise, is that he is revealing parts of himself he would never otherwise show — to anyone. Sebastian almost finds it… fun.

What he does learn is the youth is prideful, which is typically prime leverage when trying to tip a soul onto its back in order to watch it squirm, but the young Kuchiki doesn’t seem to want anything badly enough that he would offer up _his_ Soul for it. He is very clear-headed — if not always level-headed — and stubborn. Stubborn as a mule (whenever Byakuya bristles under the yoke of authority, Sebastian feels a matching frisson of delight fizzle through his essence, his claws lengthening in reflex. The gloves are more than a mere fashion statement). Not the sort to enter into a contract with ease. Not that a contract is strictly necessary — it’s just nice to have a guarantee sometimes, for the aesthetic.

After several months in the young master’s service, Sebastian is ready to claw his own skin off with frustrated desire. His very teeth itch with the pressing urge to _**-BITERIPCHEW-**_ — not like him at all; he normally has much better self control than this. He will simply have to settle for a few inferior quality snacks to tide him over if he wants to resist slurping up Byakuya’s soul like a drunken whore sucking up a spilled drink off a filthy bartop. 

So Sebastian slithers over to an _izakya_ popularly frequented by the unseated officers of the Gotei — the canon fodder with just enough flavour to their souls to be worth the effort spent tweaking his appearance for. He charms an amorous couple into accompanying him to a suitably secluded spot, both of them too inebriated to be fully aware of where they are going or where they land up (not that they will be needing to find their way home). The woman’s soul is sweeter, less substantial, and he inhales her without bothering with any of the usual foreplay. He makes a quip about how she has fallen asleep and is going to miss all the fun, before fixing the man in his sights.

It takes a while before the fallen woman’s companion starts screaming, probably thinking it is the alcohol to blame for the unholy vision of shadows and eyes and teeth and claws and sharp sharp everywhere **SHARP** that moves over him like a ravenous mantle of abyssal darkness; but when Sebastian slides in under the man’s skin; when he rakes bone-deep gouges in the man’s chest, licking at the blood and meat and sweet organs with a tongue like thistles and barbs; when Sebastian takes the first delicate nibble of the man’s soul — he knows. He knows this is real, and he knows this is the end — and still he screams. They always do.

It is a happy accident to learn that the bodies dissolve once they have been reduced to mere husks. It takes longer than the soul-eating demons which Sebastian observed the _Shinigami_ dispatching in the living world, but still, he will not have to worry about disposing of the evidence of his near-rabid immoderation. 

Sebastian makes judicious use of his discovery of the a la carte dining experience that is Soul Society, walking the fine line between debauchery and starvation. The truth is he enjoys the feeling of constant aching need and anticipation too much to allow himself true satisfaction, and the weaker souls he inbibes only intensify this sensation with their unsatisfying bite in comparison to Byakuya’s. Even the smell of _his_ Soul is more gratifying than the actual consumption of the subpar ones, but it is enough to get him through the ensuing years filled with head-splitting boredom and mind-numbing tedium. 

Soul Society is definitely a hell, and not the fun kind.

#### 4 : MIREPOIX

He could leave at any time, but he doesn’t, intrigued enough to watch his young Master lose himself by inches and degrees to the demands of his grandfather and expectations of his clan, fading like the _sakura_ he is so enamoured of. Sebastian would mourn if he wasn’t utterly devoid of compassion and mercy or any other odiously human trait (he _would_ mourn if it adversely affected the quality of the Soul he was so carefully nurturing, but it only serves to hone and polish _his_ Soul into a thing of cruel beauty, his soft vulnerability driven into hiding, so deep even Byakuya can no longer reach it). 

Sebastian watches from a tree, gleefully preening his feathers, when Byakuya’s sword releases for the first time into a thousand razor-edged blades, catching the light like so many deadly cherry blossom petals. _His_ Soul is a magnificent contradiction, so true to himself, and yet such a betrayal of what dwells at his core. Pure. Rotted. _Mouthwatering_. An entire party of _Shinigami_ on patrol in the outer slums disappear down Sebastian’s maw that night, and still he craves.

Now that _his_ Soul has started to wither and fade, the next step is to begin winning Byakuya’s trust, which will not be an easy task, as the young man has himself guarded more securely than the gates to Paradise. He keeps to himself, plays his role, reads his books and strolls through the gardens, but he is desperately lonely, and that is desperately obvious to the resident Demon. 

Loneliness is fine leverage, but the two of them are forever separated by class and rank, an impenetrable wall of tradition, obsequiousness, and lack of imagination dividing them. Sebastian will have to prove himself equal in some way, not with presumptuous attempts at conversation — that can come later — but with silent and selfless action. Carefully _engineered_ action, of course, designed to display Sebastian, and his attendant talents, in the most flattering of lights. Action taken with honour. It is the way of these souls; what they respect; what they readily and gladly die for. 

_-Humans.-_ The Demon has never rolled his eyes with such frequency in all his eons.

The problem is that _his_ Soul is very perceptive, very capable, and very fast, so manoeuvring him into a position of danger from which he will not be able to extricate himself will be tricky. Sebastian will also need a reason to be in the vicinity when the danger occurs — preferably the _only_ one in the vicinity. The more personal and close-quarters the encounter, the better. He has an idea — it is a little dramatic, but the saints know Byakuya is a dramatic little bitch under all that noble poise and bearing (and Sebastian does so love to plot). 

Byakuya is a light sleeper, often rising in the middle of the night to read, or practice calligraphy, or wander the Kuchiki Estate. It is the most alone — the most private — he can ever be; he can almost relax for a brief time, under the stars and cherry trees. He does not need to know that he is watched, every night — from the shadows, from the branches, from every vantage point available — his soft hums and softer tears a much anticipated nightly performance for a very appreciative audience of one. And unless he intends to do practice drills under the moonlight, he leaves his sword behind, secure in the (thoroughly mistaken) knowledge that nothing can hurt him here, where he is Lord and Master. 

Which is a real problem when a group of Hollows suddenly materialises in the manor gardens on one of Byakuya’s restless nights, courtesy of a little sweet talk and a lot of lies on Sebastian’s part (these soul-eaters are just smart enough to negotiate with, but not smart enough to join the dots leading to their inevitable demise). Surrounded, caught off-guard with no sword and no way to _shunpo_ out from under the mass of salivating demons, all the young noble has left at his disposal is the magic he uses — and he is very, very proficient in their “Demon Arts”, which is why Sebastian has to be very, very expedient in coming to his Master’s daring rescue.

He sends out his power in an imitation of the _reiatsu_ the _Shinigami_ obsess over, using just enough of his natural speed to qualify as the beginnings of their flash step — no untrained soul should be able to use it, after all; _-he must just be naturally gifted, fancy that-_ — and takes out two of the Hollows with a large kitchen knife, allowing Byakuya to eliminate the third with a blast of magic, and salvage his pride. 

As soon as he is done, Sebastian tosses the threat of the knife to the side with great affect and throws himself at Byakuya’s feet, his body pressed prostrate to the ground in complete submission to his Master’s authority.

“Forgive me, my Lord Kuchiki-sama. I have disturbed your evening with my unworthy presence and have acted out of turn. I welcome my punishment.”

His Master is silent, still reeling, if his energy is anything to go by. The whole event took less than five seconds, start to finish.

“Sebastian.”

“My Lord.”

“Stand up.”

Sebastian stands in front of _his_ Soul — his glorious, beautiful, broken, conflicted Soul — bathing in the emotions peeling off the man in thick, juicy strips, keeping his eyes lowered as he fights to maintain the facade of meek and dutiful servant in the aftermath of the most excitement he’s had in years. 

He is alone with Byakuya, who — besides smelling like everything Sebastian has ever yearned for in his long, long life — is looking especially fetching, his hair unbound, cheeks flushed, and kimono parted at the neck to reveal a delectable expanse of smooth, strong muscle. Sebastian sees this every day when he dresses his young Master, but out here, right now, picturing this beauty reduced to ruins under the onslaught of his tender ministrations is the most erotic thing imaginable. Byakuya is a masterpiece begging to be ravished and defiled. 

Byakuya speaks, breaking the Demon out of his nightmarish daydream. He swallows a mouthful of caustic saliva.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?”

“My Lord, I fear I have intruded and brought shame on myself and on the noble Kuchiki name. I have disappointed you, Master. Please tell me how I can make amends.” 

_-Please tell me I can tear your scalp from the bone and crack your skull open like a perfectly soft-boiled egg.-_

“I am not disappointed, Sebastian. Confused, intrigued, curious, but not disappointed.”

_“Disappointed” — a word near and dear to _his_ Soul’s heart. Sebastian is embarrassed at how easy it is to manipulate these “Pure Souls”. They pride themselves on their status, but all it means is that they are helplessly innocent and unsuspecting, ripe for the pickings (from what he has seen and heard on his aerial surveillance of this afterlife, they are already deeply embroiled in a plot to bring about their downfall, and none of them can see the wolf among their ranks. Oh well. Sheep are meat, and meat is to eat. Such is life.)_

Sebastian remains silent. Servants should be neither seen, nor heard.

“Where did you learn to do that? The speed, the attack. And why have I not felt your spiritual pressure before?”

_-It is because I am a Demon, my Lord; a Demon who spends every waking minute — and I am always awake — diabolical-balls-deep in fantasies of whether I am going to violate you from the top down, or bottom up.-_

“I have always been like this, Master. I was instructed to hide it and not use it, as such things are not for… servants. I was punished when my masters detected it, so I learned to keep it inside.”

“And the knife?”

Sebastian fidgets slightly for effect. 

“I do not sleep much, my Lord Kuchiki, and I find sharpening and polishing the knives under the light of the stars to be quite meditative and beautiful. The peace of the night is my sanctuary from the noise and demands of daily life. I am deeply sorry for disturbing the peace you sought, Master.” 

“Do not fear, you are not being punished, but we need to speak of this further, Sebastian. For now, I will take tea in my study. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, my Lord; you are most gracious. I shall endeavour not to overstep again.”

That butler, one hell of a schemer.

Byakuya is distant over the next few days, retreating into himself to consider the events that happened in the garden. The Demon has noted this pattern of behaviour before, _his_ Soul being far more affected by the world around him than he is permitted to express; withdrawal is the only way the young man knows how to process the overwhelm he is experiencing in safety. 

Sebastian bides his time in eager anticipation of the day Byakuya can no longer contain the raging sea of emotion that churns just below the carefully-schooled surface of his public persona; waits for his Master to be swallowed whole by the canker that digs its roots deeper every time he denies him_self_. It is essential that Sebastian soon slip in alongside those roots, swarm up them, tenderly choke the remaining independence from _his_ darling Soul. He needs Byakuya desperately reliant on him; needs to be the first and last thing on his pretty noble’s mind every godsdamned day to come. 

As it is, aside from being a lowly servant, Sebastian is — ever so coincidentally — remarkably similar to the young Kuchiki, from his refined features to his low, cultured voice; his precise, graceful movements; and now his display of skills that mark him as being… _more_ than the other staff; worthy of some esteem. It makes him a mirror Byakuya can project onto; a way for the noble to do the things he was not able to; enjoy the freedoms he has never experienced.

The perfect opportunity to create the parasitic bond between them arises when Byakuya summons Sebastian to his study, deep into another sleepless night.

“Sebastian, with your skills, you should be at the Academy. I am confident you have the makings of a fine Shinigami.”

_-Gotcha. Let the restrained groveling begin.-_

Sebastian bows deep and low, hand over his heart. 

“Master, I am honoured, but my place is by your side.” 

Byakuya lets out a faint huff of frustration. 

“Sebastian. Much as you have made yourself indispensable to this household and myself in particular, you would be of far greater assistance serving in the Gotei.”

Sebastian keeps his eyes downcast; even he can hide only so much, and right now he is brimming with sadistic elation that would terrify the young man if he caught a glimpse of it. 

“My Lord Kuchiki-sama, please do not think me ungrateful, but I truly wish for nothing more than to remain in service to you.”

Byakuya fixes him with thoughtful grey eyes, trying to puzzle out why anyone would reject an opportunity to claim a position of such lofty status, one which he holds in such high regard, one which he considers the highest possible achievement any soul could attain in this bleak, abysmal hell of an afterlife (and he is unaccustomed to people saying “no” to him. Sebastian is certain it is this last point that has _his_ Soul so off balance).

“Very well, Sebastian. I cannot understand your… reticence, but I cannot force you either. Know that the offer stands, should you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Master. Do you require anything further of me this evening?”

Very soon, Sebastian becomes an ever-present fixture in _his_ Soul’s daily life, even accompanying him to work so that the busy Lieutenant has no need to leave his division for meals and other distractions (his grandfather has much to say about such “nonessentials”). Byakuya never questions how Sebastian provides for his needs, fully accustomed to his expectations being met without question or hindrance. Sebastian is such a constant that people begin to talk about the very good looking shadow the young Kuchiki has acquired. Byakuya of course is completely unaware of any of this gossip — oblivious to the tiresome inanities of lesser beings — so it comes as a complete shock to him when his respected mentor and Gotei elder brings it up over afternoon tea in his Division 13 office.

“And how long have you two been together, Bya-kun?” Captain Ukitake asks, innocently taking a sip of tea and doing a very bad job of hiding the smile that is fighting to pull the corners of his mouth up in a mischievous curl.

_Sebastian wants to leap into the snowy Twin Soul’s lap and declare his undying fealty. He and his partner are a breath of fresh spring air in this repressed, stuffy society — and the Demon knows repressed; he endured Victorian England. They are audacious to the point of being able to get away with murder — and he is quite certain they have — but so urbane and polite about it that nobody really minds. Their seniority — both in years and position — helps, but it is mostly due to their personalities: relaxed, approachable, good-humoured; the kind-hearted uncle and the lovable pervert. _

_He would glory in the sensation of their souls melting on his tongue like spun sugar — sweet, ephemeral, gone too soon — but the snowy one is already claimed by a dark god, and the shadowy one belongs in turn to his white-haired mate. Still, Sebastian enjoys the singular torture of being around them, knowing he will never experience the consummate pleasure of their combined rare essences dissolving in his greedy jaws._

“We most certainly are not together!” _his_ Soul snaps, perhaps a little too quickly; perhaps a little too decisively.

Sebastian’s mouth curves up in a closed smile, eyes shut in an imitation of good-natured humour as he bows to the soul he covets with an unquenchable thirst.

“No, Taichō, I am merely one hell of a butler.”

Ukitake raises one dark brow and helps himself to another ohagi.

#### 5 : DÉPOUILLER

Sebastian’s Master is hardly the upright example of soul purity he pretends to be, though the hidden nature of this facet of Byakuya’s personality is hardly his own fault. It is his noble duty to be a shining example of the Kuchiki Clan, the Gotei, and Soul Society at large, and thus any undesirable “proclivities” must remain well concealed, even if they are somewhat commonly acknowledged. 

_The Demon has found that Souls are predictable, but the higher one climbs up the echelon of class, the more predictable they become. And the more stifled. Strangled. Smothered. It is wholly, thoroughly, unbearably boring and tedious and dull, and Sebastian thanks the infernal powers for being created a Demon, completely lacking in soul, and so completely lacking in morals and restraint and other things that get in the way of actually enjoying his existence._

Byakuya — like so many of his peers — travels to the outer reaches of the peasant districts, into the heart of the slums, when he gets the itch; where, even if he is recognised, his coin — and a healthy fear of the ruling class — will secure his anonymity. He goes, by and large, to not be alone. He does not go to hurt, or belittle, or degrade those who are already driven so low as to sell the one remaining thing that is theirs, but for company and kindness, even if it is bought. He is gentle with their bodies, kind with his words; he does not even require that the souls he purchases for the night speak to him, on occasion seeking only to be in the presence of another, with no expectations between them.

Sebastian watches with contempt and scornful derision, pulling at his feathers and hopping along his favourite perch in something of a frenzy, to see his Master — _his_ Soul — reveal himself so truthfully. He always has to eat after these expeditions of Byakuya’s, driven half mad with imagining all the layers of subtle variety that are being incorporated into the flavour of _his_ Soul. The Demon is not gentle with the ones he takes, nor kind — they die with visions of unimaginable otherworldly horror burned into the backs of their eyes, ground between his teeth like sugared rose petals.

On one of his visits, Byakuya encounters a petite woman with plum-coloured eyes and spark in her soul, despite her outwardly demure manner. She speaks to him cheerfully, with a distinct edge of humour under the required deference, and Sebastian finds his Master genuinely uplifted after his time with her. They return, again and again, Byakuya always requesting Hisana. He brings her small gifts — nothing too lavish that would embarrass her or make her a target — of food, hair pins, tabi. He goes walking with her under the night sky, safe in his status and with his unusually talented manservant following at a respectful distance. It is clear he is courting her — even if he might not have realised it yet, the girl does — and she is reticent to encourage his advances; men are notoriously fickle, noble men even more so. 

Sebastian can barely breathe — metaphorically speaking — the air corrupt with the scent of love, the most succulent form of hopelessness available. He is left dizzy with the thought of what the experience of crushing heartbreak might contribute to _his_ Soul’s already ambrosial aroma.

And then — in a magnificent turn of events that not even Sebastian could have predicted, for all his years of studious observation — _his_ Soul’s true strength rises to the surface in a roaring display of wanton disobedience for his grandfather, and the Clan elders, and society as a whole: Kuchiki Byakuya, 28th head of the Kuchiki Clan to-be, is going to marry a filthy peasant bitch from the very worst part of this hellish afterlife his ancestors had a direct hand in creating. And he will **not** be moved. Even Sebastian feels something akin to admiration for _his_ Soul, albeit that that admiration is twisted and tied up in a desire to crack open his rib cage and rub his cheek against the hot pulse of Byakuya’s life.

Byakuya is so euphoric, so deliriously enraptured, it is sickening. Despite his years, despite his bearing, he is still a boy barely entering manhood; a boy experiencing the first flush of love, the pleasures of the flesh (he certainly chose his companion wisely in that regard), the utter, _nauseating_ joy of not being alone, of having someone who is his. He stinks of happiness — no, worse: contentment — and Sebastian begins to plot Hisana’s demise.

But his Master’s new wife has a secret: a sister, she tells him (her daughter, the Demon knows), whom she had to abandon in order to survive. Now that she has a stable home, she wants to find the child. Byakuya is supportive, even though Hisana’s search takes her away from their home near every day; even though the elders whisper that she has gone back to her slum-bitch ways. Byakuya loves her; honestly loves her (despite her not returning his love in kind, though the Demon doubts his Master notices, or cares). He will do anything to assure her happiness. 

Sebastian knows this will end badly, because everything that is good, does (with a little help), and he sits back and waits for the wretchedness to unfold.

The young Kuchiki’s precious wife sickens. He begs her to slow her search for her “sister”, but she is determined. She worsens. Byakuya begs. She worsens. No cause or cure can be found. She will not stop her search. She weakens. Sebastian can sense what is happening quite clearly: she is a below-average soul transported to the “holy city”, landing right in the middle of a family with exceptionally high power levels; in the bed of one of its most powerful members. She is being slowly poisoned by constant contact with the man who would lay down his life for her. It is all very poetic and Greek, and terrifically entertaining to the Demon.

_His_ Soul is a widower within 5 years — only a heartbeat’s amount of time for the long-lived _Shinigami_ souls; barely enough to make an impact. And yet — 

The ordeal breaks him. Completely. He is a harrowed man reborn into a world of bitter ash and torment; a phoenix with clipped wings that will not rise again. And he is completely without support in his time of mourning, the clan being grateful that this embarrassing little problem has taken care of itself, and his grandfather being only slightly less gentle in his handling of Byakuya’s abject grief than the average Demon. 

The flavour of _his_ Soul in this heightened state of desolation is intoxicating to the point where the Demon finds his teeth lengthening involuntarily in anticipation of such a gourmet meal. Truly, Sebastian could not have engineered a finer torture himself. 

The only thing that keeps Byakuya going is the vow he made on Hisana’s deathbed — _-outside in the rain; if only Sebastian could have painted a picture-_ — to locate her sister and adopt her into the Kuchiki clan. Which proves harder than expected for a lonely, bereaved soon-to-be-Captain in the noble 6th Division of the Gotei 13. _His_ Soul is in desperate need of a friend. 

Too bad all he has is one hell of a butler.

_-Enter Demon, Stage Left.-_

#### 6 : CHINE

Sebastian will sometimes accompany his Master on his forays out into the Rukongai in search of the dead wife’s illegitimate child, though Byakuya generally prefers to endure his pursuit of self-flagellation alone. On one such trip together, resulting in yet another dead end and Byakuya’s spirits visibly plummeting to toothsome new lows, his Faithful Manservant drops a bombshell on the vulnerable noble.

They are in the middle of nowhere — the perfect location for the slow relishing of _his_ Soul, should it come to that (and Sebastian has surprisingly mixed feelings on whether he wants it to or not) — Byakuya sitting against a large boulder, his knees drawn up and his head cradled against them in the safe embrace of his arms. Only the slightest tremble in his shoulders gives any indication that he is a man whose soul is in anguish. That he would allow himself to be seen like this in front of a servant — however trusted — speaks volumes. The smile that creeps across Sebastian’s face is sinfully cruel.

“Kuchiki-sama, may I sit?”

The noble only nods his head in assent. _-So sad. Poor Byakuya.-_

“Kuchiki-sama, I wish to tell you something… about myself. Of why I can do the things I do. Something that may be of use to you in your search for Hisana-sama’s sister.”

Byakuya raises his head to regard Sebastian with swollen eyes floating above tear-streaked cheeks.

“Speak.”

“It is a delicate matter, my Lord, and I fear you will not like the words I have to say, but... “ the Demon bows low to the ground, the very picture of servility; “if it will allow me to serve you, then I must make myself known, regardless of the risk.”

“I am too tired for guessing, Sebastian; speak clearly.”

“As you wish, my Lord. Put plainly —” 

Sebastian raises eyes with slit pupils set in shimmering magenta to meet red-rimmed ones glistening with unshed tears — 

_“I am a Demon.”_

Even in his grief, _his_ Soul’s reflexes are flawless. Sebastian is surrounded by the deadly “petals” of Byakuya’s sword, and its wielder has swiftly moved several paces back to put distance between himself and the sexless black figure limned with tenebrous swirls of smoky night that has replaced his manservant. The Demon luxuriates in his incorporeal form, even if it is — by necessity — several sizes too small.

_“You cannot hurt me, Kuchiki-sama, and I have no desire to hurt you. If I did, I could have done it a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways, over the years I have been in your service. You may try though; I will not hold it against you, this time.”_

Sebastian’s voice is soft, slightly sibilant; Sebastian’s voice is harsh; a scourge, a flail. Sebastian’s voice is the silence of a collapsing star, and the combined cries of pain of every being that has ever existed. Sebastian’s voice is the sound of Hell unleashed.

Byakuya grits his teeth as a thin trickle of blood runs from his ears, but says nothing, and the razor-edged blades continue to swirl around the calm, unmoving figure of the Demon at their centre. If Byakuya will not make a move, then Sebastian will. He reaches out and plucks one of the sword shards out of the whirling mass. Turning his “human” cheek to Byakuya, he makes a controlled slice, pausing so that the noble can watch the cut heal. Then he casually tosses the blade back into the air to rejoin its companions.

It is enough.

Byakuya’s sword reforms, although he maintains his distance and does not speak. Thinking. Processing. Sebastian is patient; he has time.

“Why are you telling me this?”

The Demon inclines his head in feigned deference, ever the coquette. 

_“I could find the girl for you, my Lord.”_

“You are helping me find her right now. You do as I command.”

Sebastian coils up and takes a smooth step forward on heels like daggers, seductive, predatory. 

_“Yes, my Lord, and I serve you most willingly as your personal Steward — but as a bound Demon, you could command me and you would have my immediate and unquestioning obeyance. I could have her here in a heartbeat. That is the difference.”_

“I could order you to use your Demon abilities.”

Another step, and another, hips rolling, sharp teeth white against their Stygian backdrop. 

_“Yes, you could, but your order would hold no weight, not without a contract. There is a cost to power — the higher the power, the higher the cost.”_

“My life?” 

Sebastian says nothing, cocks his head. 

“My soul.”

_“Very good, young Master.”_

It comes out as a roaring purr in Byakuya’s ear, the Demon having closed the distance between them silently and effortlessly.

To his credit, Byakuya does not flinch, although the area surrounding them is rich with the acrid perfume of his distress, his heartbeat like the drums of Heaven commanding the faithful to “March”. Sebastian might even say he is proud of _his_ Soul, anticipating the battle between dignity and survival that will come when he makes Byakuya _his_.

“No.”

The Demon growls. _**“My Lord?”**_

“No. It is my duty to find her myself; that is what I swore I would do. For my honour; for Hisana.”

_His_ soul is lucky that Sebastian is long-practised in the art of controlling his instincts; lucky that Sebastian does not claw his throat out with one hand and his innards with the other; _lucky_ that Sebastian has committed to the exacting preparation of this meal as completely as he has. As it is, he loses cohesion — an explosion of wrathful shadows, heavy with the weight of uncountable eons of evil and murderous intent, returning everything around them to a state of pure, empty, _nothingness_ for one fleeting, infinite moment. 

His voice spits out as acid, dripping from the pit of his mouth, setting fire to the stony ground they are standing on.

_“Very well, **Master**.”_

And then just as quickly, he composes himself, recovering the Demonic butler aesthetic he has come to pride himself on (_-pride is a virtue and Sebastian is devotedly virtuous-_). His foolish _Master_ remains wisely shaken at his servant's shameful display, and yet the man dares to further question the Demon. Sebastian can’t decide whether to laugh in his face or clap in congratulations; _his_ Soul is exceptional, regardless of whether he has just been rejected or not.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“How old are you?”

“Older than the stars, my Lord.”

The noble is quiet again; considering. Sebastian stares at him with a tight half-smile he is sure is unsettling in its obvious insincerity. But Byakuya is nothing if not determined, perhaps fatally so.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“How many souls have you taken?”

“Not nearly enough, _my Lord_.”

A couple of Sebastian’s teeth crack audibly as he grinds the words out with as much vitriol as he can muster. The callous truth of the Demon’s nature only serves to deepen his Master’s sense of intrigue, counterintuitively drawing him nearer, rather than sending him fleeing as fast and as far as he should. 

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“What did you consume before there were souls?”

“_Everything_, my Lord.”

_His_ Soul is in front of him now, having to tilt his head back in order to meet the Demon’s heated gaze. If Sebastian had feathers, he would be fluffing them in eagerness. Nothing is more arousing than quarry that walks right up and put its head in your mouth in a blatant — and naïve — display of bravado.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do you experience love?”

“No, my Lord.”

“What do you experience?”

_ **“Hunger.”** _

The touch of Byakuya’s lips on his is disgusting, but he moves as is expected, raking his fingers through soft strands of hair, pulling _his_ Soul’s body closer (_-why does this always happen? He is not that kind of Demon!-_) and trying not to focus on the horrifying assault of corporeality on his superior Demonic senses. Thankfully, the young man doesn’t seem to require more and, curiosity satisfied, informs Sebastian that he will be continuing the search for Hisana’s “sister” without his Master’s company.

Sebastian takes his time, drawing out the search as much as possible, Byakuya’s increasing frustration serving as payment for the liberties he took with the Demon’s form. Eventually he finds the girl attending the _Shinigami_ Academy. She is the spitting image of Hisana — _-that is going to be a delicious punishment in and of itself for _his_ Soul-_ — although she has a fighting spirit the Demon can almost admire, in a hungry way; not at all like her insipid mother. 

She soon falls victim to the oppressive culture and demands of the Clan, and the cold, dismissive personality of her new brother. He can barely stand to look at her, the pain in his eyes so obvious Sebastian is surprised he doesn’t weep thorns. The poor girl is alone, lost, constantly on edge from the feeling she has, or is, or will be doing something wrong or inappropriate or displeasing to her _nii-sama_. 

Both Byakuya and Rukia are filled with regret, neither wishing for her to be there, neither knowing how to reverse the decision. So he snaps — in his smoothly aloof manner — and she cowers — in the way of one who has learned to be invisible in order to survive — and Sebastian wishes the chainsaw-wielding maniac from London was there, because he could really do with a dance partner right now.

A half century filled with the tedium of watching and waiting and subtly manipulating passes, Byakuya becoming more and more detached and isolated, his discipline and self-control turning into arrogance, reserved composure taken to the extremes of aloofness, and his once agile and discerning mind devolving into a state of ruthless rigidity. He barely speaks to Sebastian now, except to give him orders, which bothers the Demon not one whit. He has never spent this long cultivating a soul, and the Demon sometimes questions his reasons, but Byakuya just keeps on evolving, and growing, and developing and Sebastian is loathe to sup too early. He is patient; he can wait. 

He is, first and foremost, one hell of a Demon.

#### 7 : EN PAPILLOTE

The day the boy with the utterly obscene spiritual power enters the realm is the hardest day of the Demon’s immeasurably long life. He is sure the fire of the boy’s soul can be felt all the way to the heights of Heaven and depths of Hell, he burns so brightly, and so fiercely. _Vividly_. He makes Byakuya seem like watered down gruel in comparison; even the Twin Souls pale in the blinding light of the young Human’s spirit.

But he is no ordinary Human — he is a Twin Soul contained within itself, a Twin Soul _twinned_. They are distinct, yet unified; separate, but individual. Sebastian has never encountered anything like it and he has to flee to the outer reaches of the realm, unable to maintain the integrity of his form from the blinding ecstasy of the young soul’s taste, its texture. Even there, the faintest trace of the God-Soul’s essence lingers in the air, as the Demon scatters and shatters and showers the forest in a supernova of shadows.

Fortunately his Master doesn’t call on him for a few days, too caught up in making one bad decision after another, and the fiend has time to pull himself together enough to shift into his feathered form. This is when he feels _his_ Soul and _his_ Soul-to-be — for the boy will be his — going up against each other. The power is staggering. The emotions enthralling. Sebastian is overcome by every one of the deadly sins, drowning in the exotic mix of hope and despair, resignation and resolve, saturating the air as the moon and the sun battle for righteous dominance. And then — 

And then the boy does something not even the Demon’s Master is prepared for: he becomes a soul-eater. 

And proceeds to defeat him — Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain of the 6th Division of the Gotei 13 and 28th Head of the Noble Kuchiki Clan. Defeated by a boy. A _Human_ boy.

Sebastian is not convinced he will be able to contain his glee or keep the mocking edge from creeping into his voice, but he _must_ attend to Byakuya where he is recovering in the medical division. He cannot pass up the opportunity to bask in the humiliation of _his_ Soul brought so low, ego soundly pounded into the dirt by a mere child. The child comes to check on the Shinigami noble where he lies bandaged and bed-bound, and Sebastian notices the taste of the strange one with faded sunlight hair who could _-see-_ the Demon — whom he left behind in that Human town a century ago — is all over the boy; and isn’t that interesting.

The weeks following the “invasion” and near-execution of Kuchiki Rukia are difficult, to say the least. Byakuya is withdrawn, his ego crushed, his understanding of the world and his place in it turned upside down. Sebastian moves around him silently, drunk on the cocktail of self-loathing, shame, guilt, and crippling doubt that oozes from his Master’s pores like the finest of liqueurs. When he is not burying-losing-hiding himself in work at the 6th Division, Byakuya is in front of Hisana’s shrine, torn ragged by his emotions. The daily shattering of his mask is observed by none but a lone crow perched in a plum tree.

Sebastian offers no advice. He asks no questions. _His_ Soul is skittish and must be dealt with delicately. His part in this game now is to be steady, unobtrusive, and _available_. He knows what Byakuya needs and wants, and he provides it effortlessly, without having to be asked or told. 

The words will come. The words will come, and it will be Byakuya who speaks them.

The proud noble _will_ beg.

#### 8 EN : FLAMBÉ

“Sebastian.” 

The Demon’s skin prickles. _-It is time.-_

“When did I allow the ideals of others to take the place of my own? When did I become the kind of person who would stand by while his own sister is put up for execution? When did I stop being myself?”

_Sebastian could draw his Master a detailed timeline of events, pinpointing the exact moment he gave over dominion of his life, his heart, and everything he held sacred and inviolate, but he figures it is a rhetorical question._

“I am tired of being unhappy. Empty. I am tired of being —” he turns away, energy heavy with the disgrace this loss of face is costing him “— Kuchiki Byakuya.”

Sebastian doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin, his voice bright with dazzling high cheer. 

“I am not sure what you mean, my Lord.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Demon; I wish to make a contract,” his Master barks out, and Sebastian refrains from giggling, though it is an undertaking of Sisyphean proportions.

“Are you very certain, my Lord? Perhaps you should consider this for a little while longer; return to it when your head is clear. You _are_ speaking of exchanging your soul...”

Byakuya whirls on him, stepping right up into Sebastian’s space as he did the day the Demon revealed himself a half-century before. 

“I know what I am asking, _Demon_.”

Sebastian meets his ire with exaggerated decorum, though the effect is ruined by the self-satisfied smirk that has set up residence on his face.

“Very well, young Master. I live to serve you, now as always. You wish to no longer be Kuchiki Byakuya in exchange for your soul?”

“Correct.” 

If Byakuya hadn’t been so tied up in emotions he had never learned — never been allowed to learn — how to process, perhaps he would have noticed the savagery underlying Sebastian’s honeyed tone and thought twice about what the words meant. Sebastian thought back to the days when humans still knew to consider their words lest the Fae pull a nasty fast one on them. It was almost too easy now — not that he was complaining.

“You will have to bear a contract mark, which will bind us to each other. The mark will allow you to command me, commands which I may not refuse. I will be your abject slave. Master. You may choose any placement you wish, but the more visible the location of the mark, the stronger its effects.”

_His_ Soul barely needs a moment to consider. Clearly he has been giving this some thought. 

_-All the better to eat you with, my dear.-_

“My left hand; I can hide it with tekkō. In any case… my left hand has always been a source of punishment, rather than power.”

_Ah, yes, his Byakuya had been born a child of the devil, had he not._

“Very good, Master.” 

A contract wasn’t strictly necessary; it was more to set the prey’s mind at ease, give them a sense of power. A completely false sense of power, but oh, the looks on their faces when the rug got pulled out from under them. That final betrayal of trust was the cherry on top of any dining experience — as if a mere Human could bind a being of pure primordial darkness! Sebastian took much enjoyment in the spectacle of it all, which is why he always added a little embellishment:

“The contract is made binding with blood.”

“Whose?” 

His sweet Master had yet to step back. Curious. Perhaps he was afraid to move. Perhaps it gave him a sense of control to be pressed so closely up against certain death. Perhaps, even now, he longed...

“Mine. Yours. Each other’s.” 

Sebastian breathes the words against Byakuya’s cheeks, his mouth, causing _his_ Soul’s heart to flutter in time with his eyelashes. _-So beautiful.-_ Sebastian cannot wait to take him apart.

“How?”

Byakuya swallows audibly, but not from fear. No, _his_ Soul is aroused by the thought of blood. Humans seem to enjoy the ritualistic nature of the blood exchange; makes it feel more like something has actually happened. Sebastian is in no hurry to disavow them of this notion — nothing like the taste of copper-coated triumph to whet his appetite before the main attraction. Besides, he is feeling... kittenish today.

A single spiked claw presses into the soft spot under Byakuya’s chin, raising his lips to meet those of the Demon whose hands he has played directly into. 

“Your choice, my Lord, as long as we can drink together.”

“Wrists, then.”

_Sebastian suddenly understands the impulse to leap about the room in a most Grell-like fashion. His young Master… his Soul — his unassuming prey — completely lacking in guile and burdened with a flair for the melodramatic — heads straight for the vein, never even considering the drop, the finger, the cup. Sebastian wants to crow with delight._

Sebastian takes a step back, extracting a small sound of loss from _his_ Soul. 

_-Oh, this is going to be exquisite.-_

He extends his claws and slices neatly across his own wrist, blood slowly oozing to the surface. Byakuya unconsciously licks his lips, holding out his arm so that Sebastian can do the same for him, his breath coming imperceptibly faster. Sebastian raises Byakuya’s wrist to his mouth, offering his own to the noble, and runs his tongue slowly across the cut, looking up at Byakuya with hooded eyes as the young soul tentatively licks at Sebastian’s blood in turn. With his eyes locked on Byakuya’s, Sebastian closes his mouth over the noble’s wrist — watching as his actions are mimicked — and sucks hard, not bothering to suppress the moan that vibrates through his body when Byakuya does the same. 

_-And oh, he could die from the rapture of his prey’s desperate faith.-_

“How do you feel, Master?”

“Good… a little dizzy.” A small, uncertain smile tugs at _his_ Soul’s lips. “Happy, I think.”

“That is wonderful news. Now about no longer being Kuchiki Byakuya…”

The Demon pins Byakuya to the wall, making a show of licking its fangs and dragging sharply-pointed talons down the centre of his chest, slicing through the _shihakusho_ and leaving bloody trails in his flesh. 

_“... This will only hurt a bit…”_

Comprehension dawns quickly and Byakuya struggles to free himself, but his fury is no match for the Demon’s strength. Insubstantial tendrils wrap around his limbs, slicing deep into muscle, one forcing its way down his throat to suckle on something it shouldn’t be able to suckle on, as he panics and chokes on the abrasive mass. Even the Demon’s laugh is a weapon, obsidian-edged, seeking out Byakuya’s orifices and boring in until he bleeds. 

Sebastian is drunk on the release of finally getting to carve into what is _his_ after a century of denial; a century of being collared by a stupid, weak, fragile _Human_. He lets his rage loose to flay the skin from Byakuya’s flesh in delicate ribbons, not stopping in his play until the man who was his Master has been reduced to nothing more than a bloody mess of meat and bones.

And still the “death god” manages to force out a strangled accusation (_his_ Soul is mighty to the bitter end):

“You lied.”

Sebastian leans in, a multitude of unblinking cat-like orbs set in a profusion of seething blackness, and slowly pushes a talon through one of Byakuya’s eyes.

_“I am a Demon.”_

#### DIGÉRER

A figure appearing to be Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain of the Gotei 13 Sixth Division and 28th Head of the Noble Kuchiki Clan, steps out of a _Senkaimon_ onto the air above Karakura Town. It inhales deeply — the air has become even more rarified in the century since it has last been there; it appears they will be spoiled for choice when it comes to dining, as the entire area seems to have been designed as an all-you-can-eat buffet with their kind in mind: _hors d'œuvres_ of every shape and size abound; there is an over-abundance of meat — all young, all tender — just waiting to be slowly, _languidly_ digested; and then — and then the _plat principal_; the Main. 

_ **MINE.** _

The flame-haired, flame-souled creature that is to be the Demon’s next meticulously curated indulgence.

Though it is still happily savouring its last meal, there is no harm in beginning preparations for the next. The Demon is patient; it can wait. 

_It can wait forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many much long times ago - in another AU that has become so convoluted it will probably never see the light of day ::sad face:: - I decided to sic a Demon on poor defenseless Byakuya. But then! Two months ago I slipped and fell and landed in a big ol’ pile of Black Butler while hunting down Grim Reapers [oh yes, Undertaker is my squishy], and with a tweak here and a name change there, suddenly at least one of my self-indulgent babies can be presented to the world. So yeah, while not Black Butler inspired, I did incorporate elements of BB because it was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.
> 
>   
[_How many years do you think it takes before Sebastian realises how terribly, tragically wrong he is about Shinigami sanity - or the lack thereof?_]  
  



End file.
